


We Made Love In The Afternoon

by Savageandwise



Category: Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, McLennon, Presents, Proposals, Sexual Content, Valentine's Day, Work of fiction, candyfloss fluff, just for fun, not reality, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-30 14:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: John and Paul do Valentine's Day, 1963.





	We Made Love In The Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Single_Pigeon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Single_Pigeon/gifts).



> I started this fic like...2 years ago? 3? It was meant to be a companion piece to a drawing of @Single_Pigeon's but it just sucked and wasn't finished in time. Anyway. Here's what I turned it into. It's fluffy almost crack. My ideas about the gift etc are for plot purposes and not based on reality. Are not my headcanon etc. I'm sorry if I offended anyone.
> 
> Oh also, someone on mclennon recs was asking for proposal fics... this is my take on it.
> 
> Let me know what you think.

John arrived at the hotel ages before the time they agreed upon. Far too early to go up to the room. The whole thing had started out as a joke, really. It wouldn't do for Paul to think John was actually taking it seriously. 

“Valentine's Day is for sweethearts,” John had said at the time. “I'm giving Cyn some flowers that ought to be enough. She never really wears the flash jewellery anyhow. What have you bought Jane?”

“I haven't bought a gift for Jane,” Paul had said slowly. “Maybe I'll ask someone to pick up a box of candy.”

“Isn't she on a diet for her new film? Not very nice of you, is it? Tempting the poor girl with sweets.”

“Well, then she'll offer me one and I can eat them,” Paul had explained.

“Clever lad!”

“Valentine's Day is for sweethearts is it? Well, what have you got me then?” Paul had asked, fluttering his eyelashes and grinning slyly.

He hadn't thought to buy anything for Paul. (Paul wasn't his sweetheart, he was something else entirely.) He couldn't exactly get him a diamond bracelet, a bunch of flowers or a box of chocolates. 

“That's for me to know and you to find out,” John had said mysteriously.

It was Paul who suggested the hotel. They went there all the time to meet girls they were seeing on the side. It wouldn't even seem suspicious.

“See you there, sweetheart,” Paul had said with an exaggerated wink.

John spent most of the next day trying to think of the perfect Valentine's pressie. He'd wondered what all the other lads bought their best mates who they were secretly and illegally fucking. He'd agonised for ages and finally hit upon what he thought was an elegant solution. 

John ordered a pot of tea and read the paper front to back, and then back to front. He half-heartedly attempted to write some song lyrics while smoking cigarette after cigarette. He finally went up to the room, still twenty minutes too early. In the room he sat on the bed then got up again and took off his shoes. Then he took off his jacket and slung it over a chair, undid the first button of his shirt and checked his hair in the mirror. He put the jacket back on, then took it off again, hissing impatiently. 

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous. It was just Paul. It wasn't like he was about to propose marriage. 

(In point of fact proposing marriage had been quite anticlimactic if he was honest. Cyn had told him her news and he'd rather earnestly assured her that they'd be getting married. Naturally.)

Waiting for Paul to arrive his stomach was in knots, his mind flitting from one catastrophe to another:

Jane had arrived home unexpectedly.

Paul had been in a terrible accident.

Paul had forgotten about their date.

Paul had decided it wasn't worth the risk.

Paul hadn't been serious about the hotel and when he found out John actually booked a room he'd laugh himself sick.

He forced himself to calm down. It was still early. Far too early to worry.

Initially John had thought having an affair with his best mate would be easy. Well, easier than being with a woman. It ought to be simple. Men were more straightforward weren't they? There was none of that circular thinking and saying no when they meant yes, yes when they meant no. It ought to be possible to be one's self without worrying about expectations. 

(He should have known better. Nothing about Paul was simple, it was just an act he put on. Paul's mind was a gordian knot. And John thought it was fantastic.)

Paul was fifteen minutes late in the end. He arrived just as John was contemplating drowning himself in the bath. He was a little out of breath as if he'd been running and there was a kind of flushed glow to his cheeks like he sometimes looked just before a set. He looked excited and nervous and John forgot to be annoyed that he'd kept him waiting.

"Alright, John?" Paul asked. 

And then he smiled, a true smile and John couldn't help smiling back, his anxious fears melting away like ice in a cocktail.

"Yeah. You?"

"I'm...yeah...fab."

John laughed. "Fab," he imitated the awkward way Paul said the word, took a few steps towards him and paused. Then he offered Paul his hand, as if it were a business transaction rather than an affair.

Paul took his hand and shook it enthusiastically. “I say, old chap!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with fake surprise. “What a coincidence. You here as well!” 

“Well, it's the season for it,” John explained breezily.

“Season? For hotels?”

“Bit of afternoon delight.”

“Why, Mr. Lennon! How presumptuous of you!” Paul giggled.

He took a step closer to John and put his hand on high up on his back then he looked around the room nervously as if he was worried someone might see them even though they were all alone with the curtains drawn and the door locked. He ran a hand down John's back quickly, as if testing the waters. 

Then all at once John pulled him into a real embrace, his lips brushing his ear.

“Am I? Presumptuous?” he whispered, slipping a hand between them to stroke Paul's hard cock through the fabric of his trousers. “Careful now, you'll put someone's eye out with that thing.”

"Mmmmm," Paul groaned and laughed simultaneously. He grabbed a handful of John's shirt pulling it up clumsily, rubbed himself against his hand. 

“Buttons,” John said trying to undo his shirt with one hand and unzip Paul's trousers with the other.

Paul pushed up the offending shirt and kissed John's nipples. 

“I've missed you,” he sighed.

"How can you miss me?" John asked with a nervy little laugh. "We see each other all the time."

"You know how.”

John let out a desperate little moan and pulled down Paul's trousers as he kicked off his shoes. He crushed Paul to him, kissed him hard till they were gasping for air. Paul pushed him away, kissed his neck while he unbuttoned John's trousers, they slid down his hips and pooled at his ankles. Something tumbled from John's trouser pocket with a thud and Paul glanced down to see what it was.

“What's this?” he asked breathlessly, his brows arching upwards.

“You said...I thought...Well, I've bought you something, haven't I?” John answered, flushing hotly. He bent to retrieve the small box and hid it behind his back childishly.

“Have you?” Paul asked with a grin. “Let's see it! Go on!”

Grumbling about bad timing, John held out a small rectangular box neatly wrapped in cream coloured paper and tied with a plain blue grosgrain ribbon. Choosing the wrapping paper had almost been more difficult than choosing the actual gift. He hadn't wanted it to seem too girly. Like he was saying Paul was the bird or something because he wasn't. He was a man.

"Oh, John!" Paul exclaimed, “You shouldn't have!” he put on that camp accent again but he was beaming with pleasure. “Will you get down on one knee? I heard that's how it goes.”

“I most certainly will not!” John exclaimed in a scandalised tone. “I've got bad knees.”

“Lies. You're the bendiest person I know. Please?” Paul wheedled.

So of course like an idiot, John got down on one knee. 

(He was naked from the waist down but for his socks and his cock was hard as a rock, poking out from the folds of his shirt which was open to the navel. He got down on one knee all the same.)

John looked up at Paul and held out the box. “You going to put me out of my misery or what?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“No, do it proper John, it's only once in a girl's life!” Paul pouted.

John took a deep breath, rolling his eyes impatiently. “Paul, will you do me the honour of...Will you be mine?” 

Paul took the box, nearly dropping it and then proceeded to stare at John with that silly grin pasted on his face. “It's so sudden. I don't know what to say!”

“Say you'll put it in your mouth,” John said with a leer.

Paul touched his hand to his forehead dramatically. “Oh, alright then. But you can't put it you-know-where till we're legally wed.”

“I don't know why I put up with you,” John sighed. "Well? Open it!"

Paul took his sweet time about it too, untying the bow and the rolling it into a tight knot, peeling back the paper, careful not to tear it. It wasn't that he was generally meticulous, he just liked to watch John to squirm with impatience. Paul unwrapped pressies the way he usually stripped off his clothes, with infuriating slowness designed to heighten John's desire. Nine times out of ten his impatience would get the better of him and John would wind up popping buttons, tearing collars, jamming zippers and spending the afternoon searching for a tailor.

John pulled the box from his hands and Paul let out a high pitched, startled sound and glared at him. “I was doing it, John. You’re the most impatient man I’ve ever met.”

John gave him a grin. “And you love it.” He opened the box, letting the lid tumble to the ground.

"Oh." Paul said. 

He peered into the box, abruptly dropping the blushing virgin act. Nestled in a bed of tissue paper was a silver chain bracelet with a nameplate that read: Paul.

"Oh. John. John...I..." he stuttered, his face pink and his eyes bright.

John allowed himself a small smile of triumph. “Cat got your tongue? Never thought I'd live to see the day!”

"John...Darling...” Paul said, looking at him through thick lashes. “John, it's lovely...Thank you."

John gave him a sly smirk at the endearment. “Darling?”

Paul shrugged, a mix of embarrassment and earnestness on his red face. “You are though. I wasn't expecting something so...dear.”

“I wouldn't wear it in public just yet. People might wonder who gave it to you...maybe wait for your birthday?” John suggested.

He could tell Paul wasn't just referring to the price of the thing but also to how blatantly sentimental it was. It was the sort of gift you gave the person you were in love with. All at once he felt vulnerable and a little foolish. He'd made a declaration he couldn't easily take back. 

"Shall I put it on you, then?" John mumbled.

Paul held out his wrist for John to fasten the chain on. "Please do.”

"Thank you," Paul said again. He turned his wrist slowly to admire the glint of the silver.

“You're welcome and all,” John muttered, eyes downcast. "...Darling..." He was trying for mocking but the word came out a trifle hoarse.

And all at once Paul's mouth was on his and he was kissing him ardently. They stumbled backwards towards the bed, discarding the rest of their clothing. Paul pushed him down onto the mattress, scattering pillows, and peppered his chest with kisses, his teeth grazing John's nipples. Letting out a groan, John gripped Paul's hand and pushed it towards his stiff cock. Paul needed little encouragement.

“I should give you presents more often,” John laughed breathlessly.

Paul slid his tongue downwards over John's skin. He stopped to flick it at his belly button and looked up, eyes sparkling. “Little proofs of devotion keep the love alive,” he said matter of factly.

“Love?” John asked, his voice high and shaky with surprise. “Paul? Love?”

But he didn't answer. Paul took John's cock in his mouth and sucked it till he cried tears of pleasure.

Afterwards John lay drowsy and sated, with Paul's head heavy on his chest, his whole body still tingling with the thrill of it all. Love, he'd said. John couldn't stop grinning.

“So, where's my Valentine's present, then? Or was this it? Not that I'm complaining...”

“No, I did buy you something,” Paul admitted.

John shook Paul gently until he rolled out of bed and bent down to search for his jacket on the floor. He pulled a slim box from the breast pocket, crawled back into bed and handed it to John.

“It's nothing special. Nothing like your gift,” Paul said sheepishly.

It was a silver pen, engraved with his name. One of those pens posh people used to sign their checks. 

“You hate it...” Paul fretted. “It’s silly... I just thought. You might use it when we write songs.”

John leaned in to kiss Paul's lips. “It's perfect,” he assured him. 

He lifted the pen from the narrow box and pushed Paul down, straddling him and peering down into his face with a small, secretive smile.

“What?” Paul asked. “John, what are you up to?”

John clicked the pen once. “Hold still. This will only sting a little.” He smirked.

John brought the tip of the pen down on the skin that stretched over Paul's ribs and drew a line. 

Paul struggled a bit. “Tickles! What are you doing, you ridiculous man?”

“Turning you into a masterpiece,” John said. 

He made the line into an arrow complete with thatching. It pointed straight to Paul's heart. ‘Mine’, he wrote in bold letters beside that childish rendering.

“Oh, is that so?” Paul asked, eyebrows raised.

“It is,” John replied deadpan.

There was a decidedly self satisfied expression on Paul's face. “It's only a masterpiece if you sign it, you know,” he explained.

John examined his work critically, squinting and flourishing the pen in direction of Paul's limp cock. 

“What the hell are you playing at!” Paul blurted out in surprise, jumping away from John.

“No, you're absolutely right, I can't write on it like this,” John mused.

John grabbed hold of Paul, teased him into a state of frantic arousal. “Perfect,” he said.

“You're mad as a box of hatters,” Paul laughed breathlessly but he didn't move until John had gently signed his flowing signature onto his hard cock.

“And now…” John said leaning back to admire his handiwork.

“...and now I'm a work of art,” Paul finished. 

He pressed against John, nibbled at his bottom lip playfully. “John…” 

“Yes?”

“John, John, John…”

“Yes, Paul?”

He flipped John onto his stomach and crawled on top of him, kissed his neck and nuzzled his hair. His erection was pressing hard against John's buttocks.

“Yes?” Paul asked, that sweet boyish note of hope in his voice. He slid his hand between John's thighs, pushing them apart.

“Yes,” John said.

Paul paused for a moment then pressed his lips to John's jawbone, laughing giddily. 

“Marry me!”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Paul's 'We Got Married.' I dunno why but I so love that song. 
> 
> Thanks to Single_Pigeon- sorry it took this long.
> 
> Thanks to Twinka ♡, Whereitwillgo and Drearymondays. Happy Valentine's, dears.


End file.
